


Lost, So Lost (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

by alispropriisvolat



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, Fluff and Angst, One Shot, POV Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Pining Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan References, So many possibilities to choose from, So many tags, Soft Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin), Still dont know what im doing, another one shot, bc i have a short attention span and i cant write chapters, send help, yes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alispropriisvolat/pseuds/alispropriisvolat
Summary: He tells her the worst of himself and gives her the best of whatever is left of him — losing parts and every part of himself until he is lost.So lost in this beautiful mess of a girl.
Relationships: Levi & Reader, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) & Reader, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Original Female Character(s), Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin)/Reader
Kudos: 49





	Lost, So Lost (Levi Ackerman x Reader)

Levi Ackerman watches her gaze — restless, insomniac eyes. They touch the shapes of the dark; along the dusty layers of silence, against the midnight shades of the sky, the night, the morning; the shadows in between. 

"You're up late tonight," he says. Levi Ackerman watches her gaze — restless, insomniac eyes. They touch the shapes of the dark; along the dusty layers of silence, against the midnight shades of the sky, the night, the morning; the shadows in between. 

"You're up late tonight," he says. 

The flickering edge of a flame lights the end of her cigarette. A thread of ash stumbles from a strand of her laugh. 

"Come here," she tells him.

Then she reaches across the light between them — fragile whispers of candlelight burn beneath the wavering shades of the stillness. 

"Sit here, next to me," she says, "because I feel like you're looking right through me, standing there." 

Levi smiles; gathers her into him until he can taste the smell of her cigarette. He takes it from her fingers, slides a narrow drag of smoke between his teeth. 

"So what if I am?" he says. 

He can see the hollow angles of her skeleton, the shivering momentum of her heartbeat, the chaos behind the stillness of her eyes. 

The backs of his knuckles trace the light against her face. His fingertips comb it back through the tangles in her hair. 

She smiles. "At least let me see through you." 

Then she looks up at him and strikes his guarded eyes.

His hand stills against her hair. 

And he watches edges of night stroke flickers of candlelight; delicate and lithe; against her chin, her lips, her cheek, the colours of her features. 

She says, "Tell me something about you, Levi. Something real." 

He feels her voice: against the pale, against the pain. Against his knuckles, his chest, his forehead, eyelids and lips; against the secrets of his memories, his fears, his hopes and wishes. 

Everything he tries not to remember, everything he cannot forget. They come; against his will. 

They come with a fucking vengeance. 

Responsibilities and sacrifices, sacraments and destruction. They labour at his chest, they bruise his pulse.   
The lashes of his crimes penance the rituals of his guilt. Always filled with an absence, with a grief he cannot remember, but a grief he cannot forget. 

The words are concealed; said underneath a careful whisper when he tells her, "It's better that you don't know some things." 

Darkness surrounds another collapsing flame.

Eyes, shades, shadows, whispers.

He watches a fragment of time pass between them. The night gets along by itself. And Levi feels his life — at low tide, silent and invisible in the enormity of the dark. He feels the sob of his pulse, fading but not dying, stinging but not killing. 

"There's nothing extraordinary to tell anyway," he says.

"Then why are you up with me now," she says, "in the middle of the night? And too afraid to go back to sleep alone?" 

She leans in to kiss him. Once, twice. And his breath catches; somewhere between the gentleness of her lips. 

"Tell me the truth, Levi," she whispers. 

And god, if only he could be free of her without losing her. Because Levi knows that she will be his damnation. And he loves her still; loves her against his will. He loves her with a selfish vengeance. 

He touches a careful hand to the soft edges of her face. But she catches his fingertips, kisses his knuckles. 

She asks him, "Have your hands always trembled?" 

They've burned with bleach, seethed with guilt; against the pale, against the pain. 

Beaten, bruised and bloody. 

"Always," Levi Ackerman tells her. 

He tells her the worst of himself and gives her the best of whatever is left of him — losing parts and every part of himself until he is lost. 

So lost in this beautiful mess of a girl. 

She asks him why he knows the names of the stars. Who told him their secrets, who whispered their tragedies. 

"I was always told that it's because they're immortal," he whispers, taking her hand in his, guides her fingers along a constellation. "They're never forgotten, never lost. Always there, just waiting for us to look up and find them." 

Myths of lost histories — heroes and gods, written across the sky; aching in a language so old that the words had returned to the dust of the cosmos long, long ago. But they're still there, still waiting; always; to be told again. 

They were told in his mother's voice, underneath the nightmare-stricken whispers of the dark; where their names were Ursa and Orion, Lyra and Aquila. 

"Hyacinths were my mother's favourite flowers," Levi says, softly. "But she only liked the purple ones." 

He makes sure to leave them by her grave. 

They bow their pretty, grieving petals over her memory. And they make Levi's heart twist. Every time. 

He hears her smile next to him, gently against the quiet. "Just like you," she says.

"Just like my mother," he says. 

He's his mother's organs — her purple hyacinth heart, her nicotine lungs, her broken bloodline; her soft psyche never letting him forget who his mother was, who he is. 

He folds his gaze beneath his eyelids and holds it there for a long, silent moment. 

Then he tells her, "Her stupid brother used to always tell me that all the time. He made me a good criminal. Not like I had any other choice, growing up in The Underground... but I fucking hated him for what he made me." 

"When did you decide then, to leave it all behind?" she asks. "To be who you are today?" 

Beaten, bruised and bloody. 

He smiles out of the corner of his mouth. "Well, first it was Erwin Smith," he tells her. "He was supposed to arrest me that day, gave me a choice instead. And now that I'm here, I try everyday to be worth this world's while." 

Still beaten, bruised and bloody from the decisions he's had to make, from the decisions he never had; still fucking trying anyway. 

She asks him, "And do you think it's worth it?" 

"It will be," he tells her. "Like those stories written in the stars. Tragedies, all of them. Nothing but dust of the fucking cosmos. But never fully forgotten." 

"Aren't you scared?" 

He wants to light another cigarette and laugh around a breath of smoke. But he holds it behind his teeth as he tells her: "Fucking hell, of course I'm scared, brat." 

Scared as he burned himself with bleach, as guilt seethed against his skull. Scared as he watched the sound of his mother's voice in the nightmare-stricken whispers of the dark; and the first time he left purple hyacinths by her grave. He was scared of the crimes he learned to be good at, when he saw a criminal every time he looked in the mirror. 

But Levi Ackerman was fucking terrified as he enlisted in the Survey Corps and left everything true he knew behind, deep in the filthy shadows of The Underground. 

And through it all, his hands shook. 

Beaten, bruised and bloody. 

Against the pale, against the pain; against the places that his heart broke in, the moments that he cannot forgive, he cannot forget. 

He feels her restless, insomniac eyes: touching the hollow angles of his skeleton, the shivering momentum of his heartbeat, the chaos behind the stillness of his eyes. Touching the worst of him and the best of whatever is left of him — parts and every part of who he is, surrendered to her. 

"I'm always scared," he tells her. "I was scared, I'm fucking scared now, telling you all of this. It's terrifying" 

If only he could be free of her without losing her. 

He touches a careful hand to the soft edges of her face. 

His hands are still shaking. 

But he knows still, against his will, that somehow, he's safe here — parts and every part of who he is, safe with her. 

She reaches across the light between them — fragile whispers of candlelight burn beneath the wavering shades of the stillness. 

She catches his fingertips, kisses his knuckles. "Despite what you think, Levi Ackerman, you're the most extraordinary thing I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." 

Then she leans in to kiss him. Once, twice. And his breath catches; somewhere between the gentleness of her lips. 

"But there's one more thing I need to know," she says. There's a quiet smile around her voice as she whispers, "Tell me what makes you breathe. Tell me and I'll never say goodbye." 

He kisses her this time. Once, twice, again and again until the sound of his breathing is clumsy, heaving against her's as he sits there, next to her, looking right through her. 

He can see the hollow angles of her skeleton, the shivering momentum of her heartbeat, the chaos behind the stillness of her eyes. 

This beautiful mess of a girl. 

She's what makes him breathe. 

And he knows it's her because he's forced to take another breath when he smiles and tells her: "It'll always be you."

The flickering edge of a flame lights the end of her cigarette. A thread of ash stumbles from a strand of her laugh. 

"Come here," she tells him.

Then she reaches across the light between them — fragile whispers of candlelight burn beneath the wavering shades of the stillness. 

"Sit here, next to me," she says, "because I feel like you're looking right through me, standing there." 

Levi smiles; gathers her into him until he can taste the smell of her cigarette. He takes it from her fingers, slides a narrow drag of smoke between his teeth. 

"So what if I am?" he says. 

He can see the hollow angles of her skeleton, the shivering momentum of her heartbeat, the chaos behind the stillness of her eyes. 

The backs of his knuckles trace the light against her face. His fingertips comb it back through the tangles in her hair. 

She smiles. "At least let me see through you." 

Then she looks up at him and strikes his guarded eyes.

His hand stills against her hair. 

And he watches edges of night stroke flickers of candlelight; delicate and lithe; against her chin, her lips, her cheek, the colours of her features. 

She says, "Tell me something about you, Levi. Something real." 

He feels her voice: against the pale, against the pain. Against his knuckles, his chest, his forehead, eyelids and lips; against the secrets of his memories, his fears, his hopes and wishes. 

Everything he tries not to remember, everything he cannot forget. They come; against his will. 

They come with a fucking vengeance. 

Responsibilities and sacrifices, sacraments and destruction. They labour at his chest, they bruise his pulse.   
The lashes of his crimes penance the rituals of his guilt. Always filled with an absence, with a grief he cannot remember, but a grief he cannot forget. 

The words are concealed; said underneath a careful whisper when he tells her, "It's better that you don't know some things." 

Darkness surrounds another collapsing flame.

Eyes, shades, shadows, whispers.

He watches a fragment of time pass between them. The night gets along by itself. And Levi feels his life — at low tide, silent and invisible in the enormity of the dark. He feels the sob of his pulse, fading but not dying, stinging but not killing. 

"There's nothing extraordinary to tell anyway," he says.

"Then why are you up with me now," she says, "in the middle of the night? And too afraid to go back to sleep alone?" 

She leans in to kiss him. Once, twice. And his breath catches; somewhere between the gentleness of her lips. 

"Tell me the truth, Levi," she whispers. 

And god, if only he could be free of her without losing her. Because Levi knows that she will be his damnation. And he loves her still; loves her against his will. He loves her with a selfish vengeance. 

He touches a careful hand to the soft edges of her face. But she catches his fingertips, kisses his knuckles. 

She asks him, "Have your hands always trembled?" 

They've burned with bleach, seethed with guilt; against the pale, against the pain. 

Beaten, bruised and bloody. 

"Always," Levi Ackerman tells her. 

He tells her the worst of himself and gives her the best of whatever is left of him — losing parts and every part of himself until he is lost. 

So lost in this beautiful mess of a girl. 

She asks him why he knows the names of the stars. Who told him their secrets, who whispered their tragedies. 

"I was always told that it's because they're immortal," he whispers, taking her hand in his, guides her fingers along a constellation. "They're never forgotten, never lost. Always there, just waiting for us to look up and find them." 

Myths of lost histories — heroes and gods, written across the sky; aching in a language so old that the words had returned to the dust of the cosmos long, long ago. But they're still there, still waiting; always; to be told again. 

They were told in his mother's voice, underneath the nightmare-stricken whispers of the dark; where their names were Ursa and Orion, Lyra and Aquila. 

"Hyacinths were my mother's favourite flowers," Levi says, softly. "But she only liked the purple ones." 

He makes sure to leave them by her grave. 

They bow their pretty, grieving petals over her memory. And they make Levi's heart twist. Every time. 

He hears her smile next to him, gently against the quiet. "Just like you," she says.

"Just like my mother," he says. 

He's his mother's organs — her purple hyacinth heart, her nicotine lungs, her broken bloodline; her soft psyche never letting him forget who his mother was, who he is. 

He folds his gaze beneath his eyelids and holds it there for a long, silent moment. 

Then he tells her, "Her stupid brother used to always tell me that all the time. He made me a good criminal. Not like I had any other choice, growing up in The Underground... but I fucking hated him for what he made me." 

"When did you decide then, to leave it all behind?" she asks. "To be who you are today?" 

Beaten, bruised and bloody. 

He smiles out of the corner of his mouth. "Well, first it was Erwin Smith," he tells her. "He was supposed to arrest me that day, gave me a choice instead. And now that I'm here, I try everyday to be worth this world's while." 

Still beaten, bruised and bloody from the decisions he's had to make, from the decisions he never had; still fucking trying anyway. 

She asks him, "And do you think it's worth it?" 

"It will be," he tells her. "Like those stories written in the stars. Tragedies, all of them. Nothing but dust of the fucking cosmos. But never fully forgotten." 

"Aren't you scared?" 

He wants to light another cigarette and laugh around a breath of smoke. But he holds it behind his teeth as he tells her: "Fucking hell, of course I'm scared, brat." 

Scared as he burned himself with bleach, as guilt seethed against his skull. Scared as he watched the sound of his mother's voice in the nightmare-stricken whispers of the dark; and the first time he left purple hyacinths by her grave. He was scared of the crimes he learned to be good at, when he saw a criminal every time he looked in the mirror. 

But Levi Ackerman was fucking terrified as he enlisted in the Survey Corps and left everything true he knew behind, deep in the filthy shadows of The Underground. 

And through it all, his hands shook. 

Beaten, bruised and bloody. 

Against the pale, against the pain; against the places that his heart broke in, the moments that he cannot forgive, he cannot forget. 

He feels her restless, insomniac eyes: touching the hollow angles of his skeleton, the shivering momentum of his heartbeat, the chaos behind the stillness of his eyes. Touching the worst of him and the best of whatever is left of him — parts and every part of who he is, surrendered to her. 

"I'm always scared," he tells her. "I was scared, I'm fucking scared now, telling you all of this. It's terrifying" 

If only he could be free of her without losing her. 

He touches a careful hand to the soft edges of her face. 

His hands are still shaking. 

But he knows still, against his will, that somehow, he's safe here — parts and every part of who he is, safe with her. 

She reaches across the light between them — fragile whispers of candlelight burn beneath the wavering shades of the stillness. 

She catches his fingertips, kisses his knuckles. "Despite what you think, Levi Ackerman, you're the most extraordinary thing I've ever had the pleasure of knowing." 

Then she leans in to kiss him. Once, twice. And his breath catches; somewhere between the gentleness of her lips. 

"But there's one more thing I need to know," she says. There's a quiet smile around her voice as she whispers, "Tell me what makes you breathe. Tell me and I'll never say goodbye." 

He kisses her this time. Once, twice, again and again until the sound of his breathing is clumsy, heaving against her's as he sits there, next to her, looking right through her. 

He can see the hollow angles of her skeleton, the shivering momentum of her heartbeat, the chaos behind the stillness of her eyes. 

This beautiful mess of a girl. 

She's what makes him breathe. 

And he knows it's her because he's forced to take another breath when he smiles and tells her: "It'll always be you."

**Author's Note:**

> Another one shot! Also can be found on my Deviant Art account: viresacquiriteundo. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for the kudos and the comments you've left on my other pieces. Always so, so uplifting to hear from you all :) 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this piece. Hope it's reaching you all well xx


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